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 Preface

I sense that this will be a difficult blog post to put together but I am also fairly sure it's worth writing, and worth struggling to write it.

Two nights ago I finished reading the book of Job. I've resonated with it both more and less than anticipated. But it was last night while looking after a three-month-old baby that the core of what I had been learning clicked profoundly.

 Chapter 1

I wish I could set the scene by telling you how painful this road has been but I don't think I could. I can, however, articulate that this idea has hit me pretty hard lately:

"I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer;
  I stand up, but you merely look at me.
You turn on me ruthlessly;
  with the might of your hand you attack me.
You snatch me up and drive me before the wind;
  you toss me about in the storm.
I know you will bring me down to death,
  to the place appointed for all the living." (30:20-23)

On Thursday, I felt like I had landed at the bottom of an emotional chute where I was left admitting that I felt God had abandoned me. It was a weird thing to admit because it's not as though I can fault Him for it. (Do I have a right to His presence?) I had come very close to concluding that there was work to be done on my part, to get along on this road, but (as I said to Him), "I don't know how to do it and You're not helping me." I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer; I stand up, but you merely look at me.

  Chapter 2

There are things that I know are true and know must be true but they are almost painful to grasp because they don't always diminish (emotional) pain.

"But if I go to the east, he is not there;
  if I go to the west, I do not find him.
When he is at work in the north, I do not see him;
  when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him.
But he knows the way that I take;
  when he has tested me, I will come forth as gold.
My feet have closely followed his steps;
  I have kept to his way without turning aside.
I have not departed from the commands of his lips;
  I have treasured the words of his mouth
  more than my daily bread." (23:8-12)

  Chapter 3

The three-month-old ended up sleeping in my arms for about half of our time together, which was blissful. But when it was time to feed and I was two minutes later than the babe would have wanted, she screamed as if being tortured. She was very upset. She became difficult to hold because of how much she squirmed, and difficult to look at because of the agony in her face.

I remember thinking, as I tried to bounce and shush her while heating up the milk, that I wanted her to know that I could see she was in pain and I was working--at that very moment, while holding her and trying to comfort her--on getting her what she needed. I was working on it! I was aware of her needs, I was aware of her distress, and if she could hold on a little longer, she would have peace.

  Chapter 4

By the time the feeding was done, a large tear (or pool of tears, it seemed to my bruised heart) had formed in the corner of her eye. And because of the way I was holding her, the pool managed to stay precisely where it was. Feeling slightly silly, I tried tilting her just a little to at least make it roll away so I didn't have to keep looking at it. When that didn't work, I found a tissue and simply dried it up. I could not stand the evidence. I just couldn't look at the proof of the intensity and duration of her suffering.

I know that babies are different than adults in....just about every way and I know that babies at this stage are without any other means than crying of communicating their desires or needs. But, as someone who only the night before had been crying hard, for a long time, feeling alone and like the only Person who could help was not aware of my tears or making any plans for my peace, I resonated profoundly. I really got it. I see you. I care about you. I am holding you, and I am working to get you what you need (because I love you!). That night, I had really wanted to know that God cared I had tears in my eyes.

  Chapter 5

When it was bed time I headed to her room to change her into sleeping garb. At first we were fine: squirmy, interested, watching shadows on the ceiling. But once the wet onesie came off and cold air took its place, there was wailing. It was the chin-shuddering wailing because she was cold. My heart shrivelled like a sea creature on land because chin-shuddering crying is probably the easiest crying for adults to remedy! I have body heat! Take the shirt off my back! Let me wrap you in a blanket! I can fix this, right now!

But... I channelled my inner meanie and let her wail. I spoke to her softly (as if she understood any of "you're OK, sweetie" and "just one more minute") but I still let her wail. You need clean, dry clothes and you will be OK just a little longer while I get it ready. I wish she could understand me and trust me. I remember looking down at her and thinking that her infancy completely limited her ability to see the big picture, to even understand time and ordering of events from my perspective. I knew she could hold on. I knew this wasn't cruelty. (But I felt a little sad that she had no way of grasping it all.)

I worked as quickly as I could, and the crying diminished parallel with the felt coldness. By the time I fastened the last clasp, she was smiling with me. We made it!

  Chapter 6

These lyrics (which I have been fighting for months but today are slicing):

I thought I did what's right,
I thought I had the answers,
I thought I chose the surest road
but that road brought me here.
So I put up a fight
and told you how to help me;
now just when I have given up
the truth is coming clear.

You know better than I,
You know the way;
I've let go the need to know why
for You know better than I.

If this has been a test,
I cannot see the reason
but maybe knowing
I don't know is part of getting through.
I tried to do what's best
but faith has made it easy
to see the best thing I can do
is to put my trust in You.

For You know better than I,
You know the way;
I've let go the need to know why
for You know better than I.

I saw one cloud and thought it was a sky,
I saw a bird and thought that I could follow
but it was You who taught that bird to fly.
If I let You reach me
will You teach me?

For You know better than I,
You know the way;
I've let go the need to know why,
I'll take what answers you supply;
You know better than I.
©2000 John Bucchino ("You Know Better Than I")

  Epilogue

Then Job replied to the LORD:

    "I know that you can do all things;
      no purpose of yours can be thwarted.
    You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my plans without knowledge?'
      Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
      things too wonderful for me to know." (42:1-3)